Drunken Musings of an Irishman
by Demolition Debbie
Summary: Seamus sits at a bar and thinks about love. Maybe he'll find it right under his nose...


Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended on this work of fanfiction. Harry Potter is a registered trademark of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros Inc and as such I am making no profit.

A/N: Hello my lovelies! This was just a piece that came to me as I was sitting at work MONTHS ago and as I was waiting on the birth of a friend's daughter I was inspired to flesh it out. I do so love me some Seamus :) Enjoy!

~DemoDeb

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As Seamus Finnegan stared into his glass of honey mead, he pondered the logistics of love. Who exactly, he thought, decided these things? Was there such thing as Fate? And if so, Why was that bint so fickle?

Seamus pondered these things because, once again, he was alone one someone's wedding night. It had hit him especially hard this time as it was his own best mate tying the knot. The newly Minted Dean and Parvati Thomas had left for their honeymoon in India, leaving Seamus alone and brooding into his glass at the Three Broomsticks. Best Man's suit rumpled, tie askew, and sandy blonde hair mussed from running his hand through it in aggravation.

When was it his turn? To hold a pretty lass in his arms and know she was all for him. He sighed as he studied the foam of his drink. His mates gave him shite for being such a 'girl' about it, but he really did want someone to love. He wanted a wife! Plus his Mam was pressuring for grandchildren, and he wouldnt mind a few of the little buggers running around either.

But he never found anyone suitable. Every girl he picked up was only interested in Seamus Finnegan, War Hero, Order of Merlin (Second Class), and Friend of Harry Potter. Not a one gave a second glass to just Seamus...the short lad who tended to blow things up, had no tact, and was painfully awkward. The never saw the sweet, dedicated side of him or the lovely singing voice he was dying to show to a woman.

As he came out of his thoughts, a new glass was placed in front of him. Ophelia, Rosemerta's pretty little barmaid, smiled with a "Need anything, Love?", and before his brain could catch up, his mouth opened and shocked them both.

"Yeah, want to get married?"

Ophelia's rosy lips parted and stared at him for a moment. "I beg your pardon, Seamus?"

He turned as red as a tomato. "M'sorry lass, I didna mean it. Jus' caught up in me musings."

Her hazel eyes smiled warmly into his own blue. "Sometimes they can get the best of us. Mind telling me what's going on in these musings of yours?"

Seamus chuckled and said, "I'm sure ya've better things ta do than listen to a drunken Irishman's problems."

Ophelia cast an exaggerated look around the almost empty bar and brought her gaze back to him with a raised eyebrow. She picked up a dirty tray froma stack and started wiping it. "Out with it then."

And out it came. The whole story poured from him like rain over Hogwarts as Ophelia wiped trays and listened. At the end, he was suprised to find a tear at the corner of her eye. There was a heavy pause as she set down the tray and came around the bar to stand in front of him. She took his hand, smiled...

And kissed him! No tongue, no saliva, not even open mouth. Just a simple, sweet press of the lips. The kiss lingered for a moment before she pulled away with a breathy little sigh.

Seamus stared. He raised his hand and touched it against lips that still felt oddly tingly. Ophelia blushed so intensely that it ran down the neck of her shirt before she looked at the ground. He wondered idly how far that pretty blush went down (and if she would let him find out) before he realized that he should probably DO something and raised her chin to pull that delectable mouth back to his.

When they came up for air, Seamus just looked at her, one hand in that long, shiny auburn hair of hers, and blurted, "So...wanna grab a bite with me?"

Two years later, as he sat staring gobsmacked at the tiny, perfect being with his nose and a dusting of his wife's auburn hair, he thanked the Lord and the Little Green Shamrocks for the drunken musings of an Irishman.


End file.
